Red Roadster
by LAHull
Summary: One of Jane's brilliant plans goes terribly wrong causing serious consequences to one of the team members. Drama/angst/humor all in one with no shipping. A winner on the CBS official website's 2009 Write Off. Writers love Feedback!
1. Chapter 1

"He does not."

"He does too."

"Does not."

Wayne Rigsby and Kendall Cho watched as Patrick Jane exited the breakroom at CBI Headquarters and strolled over to the brown leather sofa at the back of the room.

"I swear," said Rigsby, "He did it the last time. Watch."

Oblivious to the stares of the younger men, Patrick removed his suit jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa. He then unbuttoned his vest and sprawled on the couch.

"Yeah?" said Cho, looking skeptically back at Rigsby.

"I've seen him do it. He turns around three times before he lays down," insisted Rigsby. "Van Pelt's seen him do it." Rigsby waved at Grace Van Pelt who was getting ready to leave for the night. "Ssssst. Van Pelt. Come here…" he called in a stage whisper.

"What?" she said, slightly annoyed. Before she could answer, Theresa Lisbon entered the room.

"Got a new one. Sort of." Lisbon was carrying a manila file folder. She leaned on the conference table at the back of the room and opened it. "It hasn't been 48 hours so there's not a lot we can do at this point, but it's a favor for Minelli. His wife's bridge partner's sister and husband are missing."

"Missing?" echoed Van Pelt.

"Minelli plays bridge?" asked Rigsby.

Lisbon ignored him. "Arthur and Marie Anderson. They had their 25th wedding anniversary last night and no one has seen them since."

"Romantic getaway," Cho suggested.

"That's what I think," Lisbon said. "But they didn't mention it to anyone. Here's a photo taken at the party." She held out an 8 x 10 computer printout of a 50ish man and woman smiling in a booth at a Chinese restaurant.

Van Pelt took the picture and asked, "Any kids or pets left behind?"

"No."

Cho and Rigsby walked over to Van Pelt and flanked her, looking t the photo in her hands. "Say anything to people at work?" asked Cho.

"They both took the week off."

"What's the mystery then?" asked Rigsby. "Is their car gone?"

"Car is gone."

A voice rose from the sofa. "What kind of car?"

Lisbon consulted the paperwork. "A 2008 Corvette."

"Oooooh," said the voice from the sofa.

"Oh?" asked Lisbon.

"Only one reason a middle-aged man drives a sports car."

The four agents stared silently at the sofa. They were each well aware that the 42 year old Jane drove a vintage Citroen DS 21.

After an uncomfortable moment Patrick said, "Well, that's the joke isn't it?" Another silent moment ticked by. "I didn't say it was funny…. Or true."

"So," said Rigsby, "Can't two people go away for a few days without a search party being organized?"

"That's what I said," said Lisbon. "But the sister has a feeling,"

A hand rose from the sofa. "Let me see the photo."

Lisbon took the photo back from Van Pelt, stepped over to the sofa and handed it to Jane. He examined it then handed it back. "She's dead," he declared. "He killed her."

Lisbon regarded him skeptically. "Really. From 10 seconds looking at one photo?" The three other agents edged toward her to get another look at the photo.

"He's smarmy," said Patrick.

"Smarmy isn't a crime."

"Look at the fake smile. He's got his arm around her but his hand isn't even on her shoulder. She's leaning into him and he looks like he's trying to get away." The four of them stared at the photo, trying to see what Patrick saw.

Patrick continued his lecture with his eyes closed. "They've been married for 25 years. No kids. He spends all his time at work, she takes flower arranging classes and watches the soaps. She's settled and happy. He's just bought a new 'Vette. Now he's ready to trade _her_ in for a new model. But he's fond of the old girl. Give her a nice send off while celebrating – she falls off a cliff or off a cruise ship or off a balcony during a surprise romantic weekend. How tragic. He waits 6 months for appearance's sake and then he's off to play the widower card. Haven't you people seen this movie before?"

"Or they could be soul mates and have simply slipped away to spend some time together with no chance of being interrupted by friends and family," said Van Pelt.

"Yeah. That could happen too," Patrick said.

Lisbon had had enough. "Anyway. I told Minelli we'd check it out. Marie is a transcriptionist and works from home. She's an active volunteer at the SPCA. Rigsby, check that out tomorrow morning."

"Will do, boss," said Rigsby.

"Arthur Anderson owns Anderson Classic Motors over on 25th street."

"Uh-huh," said the sofa.

"You like cars, Jane. You check that out tomorrow."

"Uh-huh," said the sofa.

"Van Pelt – check airline and cruise line rosters. Make sure the Andersons didn't have any reservations. And Cho, they had their anniversary dinner at the Blue Mimosa. You check that out. See how cozy they really were at the dinner."

"Why do _I_ have to check out the Asian restaurant?" asked Cho.

"I'll go to the Asian restaurant," Rigsby interrupted.

"Fine," said Lisbon, "Rigsby check out the Asian restaurant and Cho – go to the SPCA."

"I didn't say I didn't _want_ to go to the Asian restaurant," said Cho.

Rigsby smiled, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. "Too late. I get Pad Thai. You get puppies."

"I hate puppies," said Cho. He followed Rigsby with a sullen expression.

None of them had noticed that Patrick had got off the sofa. He spoke just behind Van Pelt's ear and made her jump. "Van Pelt and I will check out the dealership tonight," he said, putting on his jacket.

"We will?" said Grace.

Lisbon looked at her watch. "It's nearly 6:30. They'll be closed."

"Nah, they're open late." Jane grinned. "I drive by there all of the time. Come on," he said to Van Pelt and motioned her toward the door.

"Why do you need me?" she asked.

Jane maintained his signature grin. "For diversion," he said.

"No," said Lisbon. "No diversion. You're just going to talk to people."

"Of course," Jane said, waiting expectantly for Van Pelt.

Van Pelt looked at Lisbon with a slightly pleading expression.

"No snooping," Lisbon told Jane.

"No snooping," he repeated solemnly. He motioned for Van Pelt again.

Van Pelt looked at Jane and then back at Lisbon.

"Go," Lisbon told her.

Van Pelt looked crestfallen, but picked up her purse and joined Jane at the door.

"Don't let him snoop," Lisbon called after her.


	2. Chapter 2

Conversation was at a minimum during the 20 minute drive to the car dealership. It would have been difficult to talk over the "Supertramp's Greatest Hits" CD Patrick Jane was playing at a higher than moderate level. Grace Van Pelt spent the trip basking in a tiny glow of self-satisfaction from the look Jane had given her when she said, "Nice car," when he opened the passenger door for her. She thought that maybe, just _maybe_ she had got to him a bit and that was why he was playing the music so loud as well. She threw him a sideways glance and quickly looked back out the window when she saw that he was looking at her and smiling. Probably reading her thoughts though he claimed he couldn't really do that. Maybe the music was loud enough to block her thoughts. Probably not.

"Anderson Classic Motors," announced Jane as he pulled into the parking lot. The dealership had been a fixture on 25th street since 1957 and specialized in used sports cars vintage and new. The two story showroom's windows were floor to ceiling and the cars inside and out glittered in the bright light. A matching pair of 1967 Mustang convertibles were parked at a jaunty angle on the slanted pavement in front of the showroom. Inside was a 2009 Audi TT, a 1994 Mazda RX7, a 2009 Ferrari 599 and a 1975 Ford Gran Torino that looked very like the one used by Starsky and Hutch.

A small pack of salesmen perked up with predatory interest when the potential customers got out of their car. Jane waved at them as he and Van Pelt walked toward the showroom's double glass doors. "Let's not start off as cops," he suggested to her.

The automatic doors slid silently open. "Fine," Grace said in a low voice, "but I'm not going to be your fiancé this time." Before Patrick could reply Grace's demeanor and voice changed dramatically from her usual prim professionalism and she cried out in whining dismay, "Daddy, you said they'd have a Miata."

Jane's estimation of Van Pelt rose by several points. "I'm sure they have a Miata, sweetheart. We haven't seen all of the cars yet," he told her.

An immaculately made up and dressed receptionist greeted them with a bright white smile as artificial as the "New Car Smell" fragrance that filled the showroom. "Welcome to Anderson Classic Motors. My name is Sylvia."

Jane smiled back at her. "Hi Sylvia, my name is Patrick and this is Grace."

Grace retained her petulant attitude and said nothing. This did not faze the receptionist in the least. "So you're looking for a Miata?" Sylvia said.

"A _red_ Miata," corrected Grace.

"Baby knows what baby wants," said Patrick, smiling at Grace as an indulgent father.

"I see that," said Sylvia. "I'm sure we at Anderson Classic Motors can make her happy."

"I'm sure you'll try," he said.

Sylvia consulted her clipboard. "Let's see which of our customer consultants is next in line…" The customer consultants had entered through a side door and were clustered in the back of the showroom. Grace felt their hungry eyes on her. She was being salivated at like a stripper in a singles bar only with brighter lighting.

A young man with dark hair stepped away from the other salesmen and approached the new customers. "I believe I am the lucky man," he said extending his hand to Van Pelt. "Hi. My name is Charles."

"Charles," the receptionist agreed. "Charles, this is Patrick and…"

Van Pelt felt compelled to give Charles her hand. He didn't shake it, just held it and smiled.

"I want a Miata," Van Pelt said, pulling back her hand.

Charles was smooth, efficient and determined to win over the sale and probably get a date out of it too. "We've got 6 Miatas on the lot. You'd look great in one of the red ones."

The kid's not bad, thought Patrick.

"I'll leave you in Charles' capable hands," Sylvia smiled and returned to her desk. Charles escorted the father and daughter out to see the Miatas.

* * * *

Van Pelt did a magnificent job maintaining her jaded, saturnine attitude as Charles did his best to: A, Sell her a car, and B, Pick her up. Jane did… nothing. Grace wondered when he was going to do his thing. Normally he would have started by now. She was sure he was dragging it out just to annoy her. In fact, Jane was enjoying her performance too much to disrupt it. The trio looked at three different cars. Spurred by Jane's inaction, Grace finally let on that she liked the fourth. "Yeah, alright. This one," she said. "Can I drive it?"

"Wonderful choice," beamed Charles. "Low mileage, beautiful body condition and it's an automatic transmission." He managed to make it sound dirty.

"I can drive stick," Grace said defensively.

"I'll bet," said Charles, smiling even wider until he caught the glare from Grace's "father." Charles cleared his throat. "I'll get the keys," he said quickly. "Oh, I'll need your license too, please."

Van Pelt reached into her purse and took out her wallet. She gave him her driver's license, careful not to flash her badge as she did so. She didn't like the way he didn't bother to hide looking at her birthdate and other personal info, and then smiled as he looked her up and down as if he were judging whether she had fudged a bit about her height and weight.

"I'll be right back," he said and then walked briskly back to the showroom.

"What are you doing?" Van Pelt asked Jane as soon as Charles was out of earshot.

Jane was leaning into the Miata, examining the instrument panel. "This thing has awfully low mileage for an '03." He straightened and walked around to the front of the car where he popped the hood and stuck his head inside. "It's in excellent condition though." his voice muffled "The VIN numbers on the windows match the one in here and I don't think they've tampered with the odometer. Probably was one of those 'distract the wife with a cute car so she won't mind the affair so much' kind of things." He closed the hood and smiled at Van Pelt. "It would be a good buy if the price comes down."

"We're not here to really buy a car."

"No," he said, squatting to scrutinize the right front tire. "We're here to surveil." Jane stood and continued his inspection of the vehicle, stopping to lick his finger and try to rub out a smudge on the passenger door. "I wouldn't go out with Charles if I were you. A man with three cats usually has some intimacy issues with his mother that you don't want to get involved with."

"I wasn't planning on it," Grace said. "Are we going to ask Charles about his boss?"

"Not directly, no." Patrick had moved to the back of the car. "This tire is a Michelin and the rest are all Goodyear and this fender's been replaced. Maybe she did mind the affair."

"So the car's been in a little accident."

"Don't ask him right out, but see if Charles tells you about it," Patrick said. "That will tell us a lot about how this business is run."

Jane had been "doing his thing" all along. "Right," she said, feeling slightly silly.

Brisk footsteps on tarmac and jingling keys indicated Charles' return. "Ready to take her for a spin?" he grinned.

Grace held her hand out for the keys.

"Sorry," said Charles, pulling them just out of her reach. "Regulations state that the customer consultant has to drive the car off the lot." Charles got into the driver's seat of the Miata.

"There's three of us and two seats," Grace protested.

"I'll take you out first, let you drive, and then come back for your Dad's turn," Charles told her. He patted the passenger seat invitingly.

Grace looked at Patrick. He shrugged.

"Regulations," said Charles.

"Well, we can't go against regulations." said Patrick. "You go, honey. I'll just wait inside." He opened the door for Van Pelt to get into the car. Grace knew instantly what he was up to and her mind spun frantically looking for a way out of it.

"She's a little skittish. Just wrecked her little Beamer last week," Patrick said to Charles. "We're going with something less expensive until her driving improves."

"Don't worry, Miss," Charles told her. "I'm a very good teacher."

"See sweetie? Nothing to worry about," Jane smiled pleasantly. The two men were looking at her expectantly. Grace felt trapped and manipulated but had no choice but to get into the car. Patrick closed the door for her and stepped out of the way. "Have a nice time," he said.

"Thanks, Dad," said Van Pelt giving Jane her best glare. He smiled back at her and waved. The car wasn't completely out of the parking space before Jane was striding back into the showroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Entering through the side door, Patrick gazed around the showroom as he walked back toward the receptionist's desk. The front of the room showcased the cars and the back was lined with six glass-walled sales offices. Two were occupied by salesmen, one doing paper work, the other staring at the computer screen in front of him. _Probably looking at porn _Jane surmised from the intensity of the man's expression.

Sylvia looked up from the fashion magazine she was reading at the elegant chrome and wood reception desk. "Hello," she said, discretely pushing the magazine aside.

"Don't let me interrupt," Patrick said with a smile. "I like to relax when my boss isn't around too."

Sylvia smiled. "There are refreshments in the customer lounge," she said.

"Oooh, refreshments," said Patrick. "Thanks." He surveyed the room as he made his way in the indicated direction. Behind the reception desk was a corridor that led to the mechanic's bays. Three doors led off of the corridor, two restrooms and one storage room. To the left was a customer waiting area furnished with comfortable seats, a magazine table piled with late editions, a flat panel TV broadcasting the evening news. There was a high-end coffee maker with a fresh pot that smelled wonderful, a compact fridge, a microwave and a water cooler. To the left of the waiting area was the manager's office, this office was larger than the others with large windows with vertical blinds. The door was slightly open but the lights were out.

Patrick went to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. A plate of Danish Butter cookies sat invitingly next to the coffee machine and he picked up a few then walked over to the "Wall of Fame" where the salesman of the month plaques were posted. A sideways glance told him Sylvia was not watching as he pressed a button on his cell phone, but he made certain that she heard it ring and him answer, "Hey, babe."

Sylvia politely looked away from the personal conversation. Patrick aimlessly circled around her desk as he talked. "No. We just got here. Traffic. She's gone on a drive... Miata… I know, I know. _You_ try to talk her out of anything… Wait, I've got another call." He caught Sylvia looking at him and turned away. He pretended to press another button on the phone. "Hey, babe… no no. Can't tonight… I told you, I'm getting Grace a new car. Hold on. Sandra's on the other line." Sylvia glanced at him and he rolled his eyes and grinned at her and said into the phone, "Hey, honey. It's work. I gotta take this. See you later, ok? Love you." He pressed a button and turned away from Sylvia again. "She's gone. What's so important?... I don't know, a while. Why? Tested for what?" He laughed. "No, why would I…? What?? You are kidding me!" Patrick had maneuvered himself in front of the manager's office door. He looked at Sylvia and covered the phone's mouthpiece with his hand. "I've got to have some privacy here," he told her and ducked into the office, closing the door.

* * * *

Charles had pulled the Miata over in the parking lot of a dentist office. He jogged around the car to open the door for Grace but she beat him to it and got in the driver's seat. "So," he said. "How did you wreck your BMW?"

Grace adjusted her seatbelt and then the mirrors. "Jerk didn't want to let me merge," she said, and then backed out of the parking space without looking.

"Oh," said Charles.

Grace eased the Miata to the driveway, looked both ways and peeled out into traffic.

"Oh, crap," said Charles under his breath.

* * * *

Patrick had snapped the office window's blinds shut and was now free to snoop. One wall of Anderson's office was mostly taken up by a dry erase board with sales stats. He munched the cookies as he perused the names, looking for any patterns but nothing stood out.

On to Anderson's desk. Not one but three photos of Marie Anderson held prominent positions on her husband's desk. _Overcompensate much?_ thought Patrick. He sat in the man's chair and opened the top middle desk drawer.

* * * *

"Do you love her or what?" asked Charles.

Grace was determined to remain noncommittal. "Seems okay I guess. Dad's too cheap to buy me a new one."

"Why don't you have your boyfriend buy you a new one?"

"He's in jail right now," Grace replied and took a sharp right turn.

* * * *

Nothing in the top middle drawer but pens, pencils and paperclips. The right top drawer had more potential. A combination date and address book. Patrick flipped it open to a couple of weeks ago. Nothing but routine sales meetings and lunches. On the day of the Anderson's anniversary there was a single entry: Anniversary – Blue Mimosa. VACATION was scrawled across next seven days, but normal entries began on the next page with sales meetings, a birthday, a note to get the oil changed. So whatever had happened, Arthur had planned for life to continue as normal. Mind numbingly boring, but normal. Nothing looked suspicious about any of the address or phone entries, but was he expecting? A name to be highlighted with the words "lover" or "assassin" written next to it or a date circled with "shove Marie off a cliff" scrawled in blood? Where would the fun be without the hunt?

Jane moved on to the next drawer.

* * * *

"Heading back already?" said Charles. "You don't know what she can really do yet."

"Oh, I know what she can really do," said Grace.

"Crap!" said Charles.

"Excuse me??"

"Crap, crap, crap! Turn, turn at the light!" Charles was beginning to panic. He was sliding down in the seat and trying to look behind them at the same time.

Van Pelt turned the car. "What's going on?"

"Just drive!" he commanded. "Go, go!"

The street they had turned down was in a warehouse district and abandoned at this time of night. Van Pelt looked in the rearview mirror and saw a car turn after them and accelerate. Instinct told her to do the same. "Tell me what's going on," she said.

"Those guys," said Charles. "They're going to kill me."

Van Pelt believed him.

* * * *

Patrick Jane did not find anything interesting in Arthur Anderson's drawers. There was nothing suspicious with the contents of his mini-fridge either other than his somewhat juvenile taste for orange flavored soda. No skeletons in the closet, only a hand-written note in the inside pocket of Anderson's overcoat that read, "Boneless pork chops, Tomato sauce, Wild rice, Paper towels, Eggs?" Hell. Maybe the guy actually loved his wife. Sometimes they did.


	4. Chapter 4

"I said left!"

Van Pelt straightened the Miata out after a sharp right turn. "I'm going back to the dealership," she said, accelerating. With the open convertible cab she heard the other car, a black late model Honda, squeal around the turn after her.

"They know where I work! We've got to get on the highway!"

Van Pelt threw the tiny car through another tight right turn, bringing them back onto a main street. "That is the _last_ thing we need to do," she said, fully back in her cop persona. Her evasive driving classes kicked in and she wove deftly through traffic. "Who are they and why do they want to kill you?"

"Business associates," said Charles. "I owe them money but they're supposed to give me more time…"

Van Pelt was trying to get far enough ahead of the sedan so that she could have her weapon ready when they finally caught up with her. There was an annoying amount of traffic on the main road but they were nearly back to the dealership. If they could only make the light at the intersection…

No such luck. The light turned red and traffic came to a reluctant halt. Two cars were in each lane in front of her and the cross traffic was fairly heavy. There was no where to go.

Charles removed his seat belt, planning to bolt. He was halfway out of his seat when he looked around and yelled, "Crap!"

Van Pelt looked around and saw the sedan had stopped several cars back. Two men had got out of it and were running toward them. Both of them had guns.

"Go, go!" yelled Charles. He threw his left leg over the center console of the Miata and stomped on the gas while wrenching the steering wheel to the left. The car leapt forward, bouncing over the median as shots rang through the air. Grace grabbed frantically for the steering wheel and tried to shove Charles out of the way. The Miata spun out of control and into the intersection. Everything happened in slow motion after that. The tiny Miata was struck a glancing blow by an east-bound minivan which propelled the Miata into the path of a west-bound Prius. As the minivan flipped over and slid into the concrete streetlight in front of the dealership, the Prius hit the Miata from behind and hurled it across the street and into the bottom side of the overturned minivan. Grace smelled gasoline, heard a car horn blaring and then everything went black.

* * * *

Jane heard firecrackers going off and then the sound of a terrible car crash. Having no ambulance-chasing tendencies or paramedic skills, he usually ignored such things, but this accident seemed to have stirred things up among the dealership's employees. He heard shouting and Sylvia's frantic call to 911. There was nothing else of interest in Anderson's office, so Patrick walked back into the showroom.

The two remaining salesmen had run outside to investigate. The accident had occurred right outside the showroom's front window. Patrick could see a van lying on its side, smoking. Sylvia was on the phone saying, "The corner of 25th and Gerard. Several cars, and someone was shooting!"

_Shooting? That was interesting_, thought Patrick. And dangerous. No reason to walk outside into that. But one of the salesmen ran back in, looking stricken. "Mister," he said to Patrick. "You'd better come out here."

Something about that statement and the way it was delivered chilled Patrick to the bone. He followed the salesman outside.

The intersection was in a state of total chaos. The strong smell of gasoline filled the air, and a car's horn was stuck blaring. A crowd was gathering and voices were shouting.

"Is there anyone in there?"

"Dude someone was shooting."

A crowd had gathered around the minivan but no one was doing anything.

"Two guys were shooting. They took off."

A few steps closer and Jane could see a body lying in the street. A man.

"I think that guys dead," said a voice from the crowd. Someone snapped pictures with their camera-phone.

Patrick walked around the smoking mini-van and there was the red Miata, crushed against the minivan's underside. Grace Van Pelt was slumped back in the driver's seat, not moving. One side of her head was bloody. Patrick ran to her side.

"Don't touch her," someone said.

"That's her Dad," one of the salesmen from the dealership said.

"Don't move her," came another helpful voice from the crowd.

He didn't intend to. You never move an accident victim. "Grace," he called softly. Jane pushed the deflated airbag out of the way to get a better look at Van Pelt. He could see that she was breathing. That was good. He gently touched her neck – there was a pulse, faint, but it was there. That was also good.

The upturned side door of the minivan slid open and a hand groped around the outside looking for a good grip. A baby was crying inside. A woman's voice said, "Help me! Help my baby!" That finally spurred some people in the crowd into action. A man ran forward and jumped onto on the hood of the Miata to better reach the woman in the van.

That jostled Van Pelt and Patrick shouted, "Take it easy!" He turned his attention back to the young agent. "Grace, can you hear me? Open your eyes if you hear me." Patrick studied Van Pelt's face for any sign of waking. There was none. "You're gonna be ok. You're gonna be fine. The ambulance is coming now." He didn't hear any sirens but they were coming. They had to be.

The woman in the van handed a wailing baby over to the man standing on the Miata who handed it off to a woman who had also emerged from the crowd. The woman rushed the baby into the dealership where a capable Sylvia was waiting to help. The man then helped the woman climb out of the van and led her into the dealership.

More people began to gather but Patrick was developing tunnel-vision and didn't really notice them. He looked Van Pelt over. Her right leg was at an odd angle, probably broken. It didn't look as if she was pinned in the car either but where the hell was the ambulance? The reek of gasoline was overpowering. One spark and…

Someone in the crowd gasped and they all moved back en masse. Jane didn't need to look to know what had happened. He didn't need to think to know what to do. The Miata's damaged door wouldn't open, so he reached inside, unlatched the seat belt and picked Grace up and out of the car. Jane ran with her, feeling the heat at his back as flames overtook the van and the Miata. Mindful of her broken leg, Patrick carried Van Pelt to the grassy area a safe distance away and placed her gently on the ground.

"You shouldn't have moved her," a woman in the crowd said.

"I wasn't going to watch her burn," Patrick snarled at her. Sirens sounded very close now. A police car honked its horn to get through the observers. It was followed by an ambulance. Patrick brushed the bloody hair away from Grace's face and bent close to her ear. "They're here to help you now. You're going to be fine, Grace. You hear me? You're going to be fine." He repeated the words over and over until the medics shoved him out of the way.

"Hey!" The second salesman protested. "That's her dad!"

"We need room to work," one of the medics snapped.

"Holy shit," another paramedic said. He'd found Van Pelt's weapon and badge. "She's a cop!"

"CBI," Patrick said, but no one heard him. They didn't need to. There were procedures for this and they were put in motion immediately. The paramedics notified the policeman nearby who notified the CBI; an efficient system that didn't need the help of an outsider. Patrick Jane moved a few feet away and watched them work to stabilize Van Pelt. He was aware of nothing else.

* * * *

Jane was transported to the hospital by one of the police cruisers escorting Van Pelt's ambulance. He managed to follow her gurney into the trauma room and watched as a team medics swarmed over her for a full 3 minutes before he was noticed and led out of the room by a nurse and deposited in the waiting area. The chaos of the accident scene was duplicated in the emergency room. Three ambulances had arrived carrying the other accident victims – Charles, the van driver and her baby and the driver of the Prius. The waiting area swarmed with police from Van Pelt's former squad.

Through the crowd, Jane saw Lisbon enter. Calm and commanding, she spotted him instantly and went directly to him. "What happened?" she demanded.

Patrick was surprised that he could find his voice. "A car accident," he said, forcing mimself to meet her eyes.

"How bad?" she asked.

"Bad."

She could see that he was pale and shaken, and her demeanor became more icy-steel in contrast. "Are you hurt?" Lisbon indicated the blood on the shoulder and sleeve of his jacket.

Jane noticed it was there for the first time. "That's not mine…"

"How did it happen?"

"I wasn't with her. She was on a test drive?"

"A test drive?" Jane looked at her but didn't reply. Lisbon remained calm. "And where were you?"

"I was in the showroom."

"Snooping," she said frostily.

Jane looked at the floor and nodded. "Snooping," he admitted. "I…"

"You need to remove yourself from my presence," Lisbon said.

Jane looked at her as if she had struck him. She wasn't falling for the hurt puppy thing this time and stared him down. "I have never been more serious," she said. "Go."

Patrick turned away from Lisbon. On the other side of the corridor was a glassed-in waiting room. Knowing full well he wouldn't make it any further, Jane went inside and wilted into a seat.

* * * *


	5. Chapter 5

Lisbon was being briefed about Van Pelt's condition by her doctor when Kimball Cho arrived. "How is she?" he asked.

"Head injury, possible internal injuries. Broken leg," Lisbon told him.

"Is she going to make it" he asked bluntly.

"Too soon to tell," Lisbon said. "They're still trying to stabilize her."

Cho spotted Jane over Lisbon's shoulder and nodded in his direction. "How is he?"

"Not a scratch," said Lisbon bitterly. "He wasn't in the car. Didn't see it happen. Too busy with one of his brilliant plans."

"Looks like he feels pretty bad about it…"

Lisbon glanced at Jane sitting alone in the waiting room, eyes focused on nothing. "Let him," she said. She walked away in search of one of the lead patrol officers. "Are we going to have a pity party or are we going to investigate this accident?" she said over her shoulder.

Cho hesitated. "I'm just going to talk to Jane for a minute," he told her. Lisbon stalked away with a scowl on her face. Cho walked to the entrance of the waiting room and stopped in the door way. "Hey," he said. "You okay?"

As Jane looked up a flurry of activity began in the trauma room, drawing the attention of Lisbon and Wayne Rigsby who had just arrived. Jane stood and watched from beside Cho as three technicians rushed the gurney carrying Van Pelt out the door of the trauma room and past them down the corridor. Lisbon trotted after them and caught the sleeve of the lead doctor. "What?" she demanded.

The doctor stopped and said, "There's nothing more we can do for her down here. There's a team waiting in the O.R. They're going to relieve some of the pressure on her brain."

"Her brain?" echoed Rigsby.

"She's in good hands," the doctor told them. "They'll do their best." He removed his bloody gloves and tossed them on the floor in the trauma room they had just left, adding to the mess of other gloves, gauze and blood already there. Lots of blood. The E.R. doctor moved on to the next waiting patient.

Wayne Rigsby gave Jane a smoldering stare. Jane looked like he wanted to be hit and Rigsby was more than ready to oblige. Cho crossed his arms and stayed in front of Jane and Lisbon blocked Rigsby. Pointing in the opposite direction, she said, "That way. Now. Let's get the details on this."

One of the trauma room nurses watched them go and then said to Cho, "There's another waiting room in intensive care. That's where they'll move her after surgery. Third floor. I'll let your friends know that's where you've gone. It's quieter up there."

The third floor waiting room was, as the nurse had promised, quiet. Cho's mission had been one of "Jane Containment." A half-joke among their squad at CBI, "Jane Containment Protocol" was put into effect whenever it seemed likely that a situation involving the consultant might get out of control. Cho knew Jane longer than any of the others, so he was usually number one on JCP. The mission was successful: he had removed Jane from immanent danger in the form of both Rigsby and Lisbon, deposited him in a safe environment, and provided refreshment in the form of a cup of coffee from the vending machine down the hall. He wasn't drinking the coffee, but there was little Cho could do about that. "Do you want to talk?" Cho asked.

"No," said Jane.

Cho nodded. "I'm going to go downstairs and see what's going on."

Cho had been a solid, comforting presence. Now that he was gone the waiting room was quiet. Quiet was not what Patrick wanted. When it was quiet, his thoughts were able to catch up with him. With other people around he could focus on them – figure them out, entertain them, entertain himself by confusing and confounding them. When he was alone there was nowhere to hide.

Soft lighting, flowered wallpaper and overstuffed couches were not enough to disguise the fact that this was a hospital. People were sick here; people often died here. It was a hospital that Patrick was familiar with. He had been here twice before, not alone, in a waiting room with pink and blue teddy bears instead of flowers on the wallpaper. 4th floor, Pediatrics. That was where Patrick and Angela had spent an agonizing three hours waiting for results from the tests performed the time they brought Charlotte in when she'd had that febrile seizure. She was just two years old. She'd had a cold with a fever that just spiked higher and higher and then she'd gone into convulsions. Seeing her tiny body wracked with convulsions had been terrifying. They had both felt so helpless. It was more than a parent should have to bear. Being assured that febrile seizures were not uncommon in small children and usually have no lasting effects was of little comfort. The fact that they often recurred was horrifying. Patrick and Angela were sick with worry each time Charlotte caught a bug after that, but it never happened again.

The second time they waited in the same room was when Charlotte was four and had a tonsillectomy. Hardly life-threatening but, still, surgery is surgery and they'd spent the time trying to feign interest in 4 month-old magazine articles. Angela got annoyed with him when she asked for a cup of tea from the vending machine and when he brought it to her she accused him of getting coffee by mistake. Another trip to the machine and another cup of "tea" produced the same result, as did third trip for hot chocolate. The two of them were nearly overcome by a most unseemly giggle fit that time. Angela dug deep into her purse for some more change so they could see if the machine's soup had the same taste and they went together to the machine, trying not to snicker out loud and disturb any patients. Charlotte's doctor came to give them the results of Charlotte's procedure and found the parents standing teary-eyed in the hallway and very quickly and compassionately assured them that their daughter was just fine.

Patrick's eyes drifted to the coffee cup Cho had put on the table next to him. Six, nearly seven years had passed and the blue and green 60's inspired design on the paper cup was exactly the same. "Probably tastes the same too," he said out loud. In his mind he heard Laura answer, "No. This time it will taste like chicken soup." A very slight smile tugged at his lips...

"Jane?"

A voice… a real voice?

Lisbon spoke a little louder. "Jane."

Jerked back into the present, Jane looked up, the reality of the night's events flooding back into him. "Is there news?" he asked, standing up.

"No about Van Pelt, no," Lisbon said. "She's still in surgery. It will be a while."

"Oh," he said. He knew there were tears in his eyes and he willed them away. He sat back down on the edge of the sofa, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.

Lisbon entered the waiting room, pulled a chair directly in front of Jane and sat down.

He risked looking her straight in the eyes and said, "I'm so very sorry."

Lisbon met his gaze steadily."I talked to the officers and the witnesses. You pulled Van Pelt out of the car."

Jane stared at his hands, making another effort to hold back tears. "If what I did injured her further…" he stopped, unable to go on.

Lisbon noticed that he was shaking. She leaned forward and put a hand on top of his. "What you did saved her life," she said. "You got her out of that car."

"I put her _into_ that car," he said, voice breaking.

"And you got her _out_," Lisbon repeated. Despite his best efforts, a single tear fell, landing on Lisbon's hand. She reached out with her other hand and covered both of his. "Listen to me," she said. "Van Pelt is a grown woman and a trained police officer. She got into that car on her own accord. Neither one of you could have know what was going to happen. I don't know why she chose to flee instead of returning fire…"

"Gunfire?"

"Yeah. Someone was shooting at them. Witnesses say two guys in a dark sedan, no one got a plate number. Fenway says he has no idea who it might have been…"

"Fenway? Charles Fenway?" The salesman!" Patrick Jane's composure returned quickly.

Lisbon was suddenly aware she was holding his hands and withdrew hers. "He was in the car with Van Pelt, no seat belt, thrown clear. Broke both his legs and was knocked out for a while, but he's fine, lucky bastard. The anti-seatbelt-law nuts will be all over this one."

Patrick stood. "I want to talk to him."

"Jane, I don't think that's a good idea," Lisbon cautioned.

Jane walked into the corridor in the direction of the elevators. "It's the best idea I've had all day," he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Charles Fenway dreamt of paradise. His particular version of paradise involved a circus tent, some very flexible female dwarfs and a trampoline. With a smile on his face he opened his eyes. And found another pair of eyes staring back at him from about 6 inches away. They were blue and angry.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Charles. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm glad you're awake," said the man with the eyes.

"Huh?" said Charles. The man looked familiar, very familiar…

"Don't remember me? You will soon," said the man. He seemed very calm but there was menace in his manner. "Are you in any pain?" he asked.

"A bit, yeah," said Charles. He glanced around the room, indicating the beeping machines, the I.V. dripping fluids into his arm and the traction contraption from which both his legs were suspended. Charles was trapped like a wolf in a bear-trap.

"I'm in pain too, Charles. Do you know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you killed my daughter."

"Nah, no. I didn't kill anyone."

"Yes you did. The beautiful red-haired girl you took on a test drive a few hours ago? She's dead." The man, the beautiful red-haired girl's dad, stood up and began toying with the switches and dials on one of Charles' machines.

"Um… officer?" Charles called to the policeman stationed at his door.

"He's not going to help you. He let me come in here," said the dad. "He doesn't care about you. He's too upset over the fact that another person died in the accident you caused. A police officer."

The officer glanced into the room, turning his head just far enough that Charles could see his Asian profile, then looked away.

The dad continued to play with the dials. "There are a lot of upset people in this hospital tonight because of you, Charles." He flicked a switch and a warning buzzer sounded. He flicked it again and it stopped. He remained disconcertingly expressionless.

"Look," said Charles. "I'm real sorry about your daughter."

"I don't believe you are, Charles." said the dad. He had picked up a pillow from the other bed in the room and examined it with a critical eye. "But, you will be…"

"Officer!" called Charles. The officer ignored him.

The dad tossed the pillow back onto the bed and approached Charles. "I seem to have several choices. I could nothing myself and you will probably be killed within an hour or two by whoever was trying to kill you in the first place."

"They wouldn't make it past security…"

"Yes they would," said the officer.

"If they didn't," said the dad, "And you aren't guilty enough on your own, I have more than enough money to concoct more than enough evidence to have you sent to prison anyway. You're _way_ too good looking to go to prison, Charles."

"I'll say," said the officer. He gave Charles a quick appreciative look over.

"Or I could just kill you myself, right now." The dad pulled out a syringe filled with pale yellow liquid.

"No, please, I'm sorry!" begged Charles.

"Sorry doesn't bring her back," snapped the dad.

"I didn't mean for this to happen, she wasn't supposed to be involved! They were supposed to give me more time!"

The dad calmly uncapped the syringe and reached for Charles' I.V. line.

"I'll give you money!" blurted Charles.

The dad erupted. "Money?? You're offering me _money?_"He leaned over Charles' bed and grabbed him by the hospital gown. The officer watched but didn't move. "Money? For the precious life that you took?"

The dad's face was inches from his own and full of fury. Charles was terrified. "Officer!" he cried. "I have information about a kidnapping!"

Cho entered the room. "Kidnapping of who?"

Charles was frantic. The dad had lifted his upper body from the bed and looked as if he might be prepared to bite his nose off. "Arthur and Marie Anderson! I know where they are! Please, help me!"

"That's enough," said Cho. Jane didn't move. Cho put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Enough," he said again.

Patrick Jane looked at Cho and his anger slowly deflated. He dropped Charles back onto the bed and walked out of the room, not saying a word to Lisbon who stood just outside the door. He ignored her, "Nice job," compliment and went straight to the elevator.


	7. Chapter 7

Lisbon joined Cho in Charles Fenway's room. The salesman was happy to tell them everything they wanted to know, and more on the promise that they would protect him from the crazy guy and the assassins. "I liked the Andersons, I really did. _Do_," he corrected. "I _do_ like the Andersons."

"So they're not dead?" asked Lisbon.

"They shouldn't be," said Fenway. "I hope not. They treated me like family." He hesitated and looked at the window. "Can you close the blinds on that window?"

"In a minute," said Cho. "Tell us why these guys have the Andersons."

Charles pointed nervously at the window. "I'd be more comfortable with that closed…"

Neither Lisbon nor Cho moved.

"Where are the Andersons?"

"At Vinny's warehouse"

"Give me the address," said Cho, notebook in hand.

"5489 West Talulah."

"Are they alone?" questioned Lisbon.

Charles shook his head. "No. Vinny should be there. Also Jose and Rich if they aren't still out looking for me.

Lisbon took out her cell phone and pressed a speed dial button. "Rigsby – get a SWAT team together and go to 5849 West Taluha. The Andersons are being held there by at least three armed men. And send someone over here to watch Charles Fenway in room 115. " She snapped the phone closed.

Cho stared at her intently.

"Go," she said. "Keep me informed."

Cho left in search of Rigsby.

"Me and Vinny go way back," said Charles. "You gotta understand… we're almost like cousins…"

"If we don't have to shoot him maybe you can stay in the same cell," said Lisbon. "Why do they have the Andersons?"

"Blackmail," said Patrick Jane from the hallway behind her. Lisbon gave him an inquiring look. "She's still in surgery," he explained. Jane entered the room.

Charles looked very nervous.

"That's the only reason why Arthur took you out to lunch at least once a week," Jane said. He walked to the end of Charles' bed and sat down, careful to avoid the traction support system holding up Charles' legs.

"He didn't take me to lunch once a week," protested Charles.

"Give or take," said Jane. He noticed the excessively intimate view he had of Charles from the angle where he sat. Jane stood up and walked around Charles' bed to sit on the edge of the other bed. "He certainly took you out to lunch more that any of his other employees."

"I was a good salesman," said Charles.

"You were an _average_ salesman," said Jane. "I saw the stats posted in Anderson's office."

Lisbon pulled a micro-tape recorder out of her jacket, turned it on and placed on the table next to Charles. She crossed her arms. "Exactly what is your involvement in this, Mr. Fenway?"

"Nothing all that much," he said.

"Do you really think that Vinny is going to take the fall for this and let you slide?" asked Lisbon. "You've got some very serious charges pending against you right now. If you cooperate we might be able to help you. If you don't, you're going to be charged as an accessory to what ever happens at the warehouse tonight, as well as being charged with vehicular homicide for anyone who didn't survive the accident you caused."

Charles looked at Jane. "I'm really sorry about your daughter," he said.

"Thank you," said Jane.

Charles sighed. "Vinny liked to take things. Little things, mostly, and sell them to pawn shops. Been doing it since we were kids. About six months ago he stole a car. One of his other friends had a girlfriend in the DMV. She got into the computer, printed up some fake paperwork for it. I helped Vinny sell it to Anderson Motors."

"Did Arthur Anderson know anything about it?" asked Lisbon.

"Not that time, no," said Charles. "But it worked so easy Vinny wanted to do it again. And again. We got up to about 3 a month when Anderson finally started getting suspicious. I told Vinny we had to stop but he said, 'No way.' It was all working out so well."

"So you explained to Anderson what was going on," Jane deduced. "Tried to get him to go along with it…"

"Yeah," said Charles. "I took him out to lunch, tried to… persuade him."

"But he wouldn't go for it," said Jane.

"Stupid old man," said Charles. "I offered him a cut, he didn't want it. He wasn't going to go to the police, he just wanted me to stop."

"He treated you like family," Jane said. "Didn't want you to get in trouble."

"Yeah," said Charles.

"I don't get why Anderson and his wife were kidnapped," Lisbon interrupted.

"It's all part of an evil plan," Jane told her. "They kidnap the old man and his wife, or take him hostage, really. No one would really miss them because they were on vacation, Charles saw to that. They hold them to try and convince them to play along or, if that fails, until Charles in Charge here collects enough money from the week's cash sales for Vinny and friends to get comfortably out of town."

Charles nodded. "I was supposed to have to the end of the week, but Jose and Rich came looking for me and found me on that test drive."

"Something must have gone wrong with the Andersons," supposed Lisbon.

"I guess," said Charles.


	8. Chapter 8

5849 West Taluha was in the warehouse district of Sacramento. A number of businesses in the area had ceased operations due to the economic situation and the area was pretty much deserted. Sodium vapor streetlamps cast an amber glow, muting all colors on the buildings not already muted by sun and neglect. The building Wayne Rigsby and the 15 man squad of police officers and SWAT team members he headed were concerned with was the only one occupied on the entire block, and not by the intended tenants. The only civilians in danger were the Andersons, allegedly being held inside and a few bold and curious rats watching from the shadows outside.

The squad moved silently, surrounding the building, covering the doors and the few existing windows. Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho followed closely behind the heavily armed and armored four man primary team that kicked in the warehouse's side door. They checked the tiny offices and store rooms as the moved down the corner, one man moving ahead at a time while the others covered him. As they neared the cavernous main room they could hear a television playing. The metal door to the room was closed, but the upper half was mesh-encased glass. The room beyond was primarily dark, with only the blue vacillating light of a TV illuminating the near right corner.

Rigsby pounded on the door yelling, "State police! The place is surrounded, all exits blocked. Toss your weapons to the center of the room and lie face down on the floor. We're coming in."

There was a muffled sound of metal sliding on concrete.

"Gun's thrown away," came a voice from inside.

"Then get on the floor," instructed Rigsby.

"I _am_ on the floor," said the voice. "Come in already before the crazy bastard shoots me again!"

Two of the armored SWAT officers entered the room first. One grabbed the gun off the floor and the other trained his weapon on the man on the floor. Rigsby and Cho entered the room. Inside, next to the TV they found a man lying on the floor as instructed. He had a crude bandage tied around one bloody leg.

"Mr. Anderson?" said Rigsby, going to the man on the floor.

He turned his head revealing a much younger visage than the man Rigsby had seen in the photo. "Guess again," he said.

"You must be Vinny," said Rigsby. With Cho and one of the SWAT guys holding their weapons on the man on the floor, Rigsby pulled the man's hands behind his back to cuff him. "Watch it, Goliath," the man protested. "Can't you see I'm hurt?"

"Are you alone here?" asked Cho.

"Not anymore," Vinny grinned.

"Where are the Andersons?" Rigsby asked.

The man jerked his head upward to the maze of catwalks suspended two stories above the floor of the warehouse. "Up there somewhere," he said. "Crazy bastard. I was being nice, let him and his wife watch some CSI while the guys went to get us a pizza. Crazy bastard grabbed my gun and shot me in the leg. Couldn't get out 'cause the door was locked so they ran upstairs. Ain't no way out from up there, and I got another gun," he chuckled. "I been waiting to get a shot at him but he's smart enough to stay hid."

During the monologue Cho had radioed the rest of the SWAT team to stand down. Two of the officers went upstairs to look for the Andersons.

"Where are the others" demanded Cho.

"They went looking for Charles," Vinny said. "Are you getting an ambulance for me? My leg hurts like a bitch."

"It's on its way."

"Hey," said the wounded man. "You think I could press charges?"

"I doubt it," said Cho.

"So, did the guys find Charles? Is he dead?"

"Is he supposed to be?" Rigsby asked.

"I'm not dumb enough to answer that," Vinny laughed.

A voice called out from above, "All clear!" On the second floor catwalk where it attached to the third floor offices, a door opened. Two SWAT team members emerged with a man and a woman in their fifties. They were unharmed. The Andersons and the SWAT members headed for the metal stairs down to the main floor.

Cho called Lisbon on his cell phone. "We've got the Andersons, they're fine. We've got the leader – he's wounded but he'll survive. The shooters are still at large."

"What are the names of your partners" Rigsby asked Vinny. "Where would they hide out?"

"I'm not dumb enough to answer that either," he said.

Wayne Rigsby rolled the man over with his foot and knelt menacingly beside him. "A state police officer was very seriously injured tonight…"

"That's too bad," Vinny said. "But I had nothing to do with that. I was right here, very seriously injured myself. Ask _them_." He nodded toward the Andersons, now on the ground floor.

"You're going to tell us who your partners are…" said Rigsby.

Vinny laughed. "Or what?" he said. "Look at all these witnesses. If I can't sue them for shooting me I can sue your department for police brutality."

"None of these witnesses give a damn what happens to you," snarled Rigsby, standing and drawing back a foot to kick Vinny.

Vinny just stared defiantly at him and grinned.

"He's not worth it, Rigs," said Cho. "Fenway will give them up. He already rolled on Vinny. Let's go talk to him now."

Rigsby didn't move. Faint sirens outside signaled the arrival of an ambulance. The Andersons were being led across the room by the SWAT members and past the standoff between Rigsby, Cho and Vinny. Marie Anderson marched up to Vinny and kicked him in his bandaged leg. Vinny curled up like a shrimp and howled in pain. "The first one was from my husband," she said. "That one was from me." Marie rejoined her husband and walked out the door.

Rigsby smiled. That was almost as good as having done it himself.

* * * *


	9. Chapter 9

Rigsby and Cho returned to the hospital bearing pizza and drinks. They met Lisbon and Jane in the 3rd floor waiting room. "Any news" Rigsby asked.

"She's out of surgery," Lisbon told them. "She'll live."

"Thank God," said Rigsby, looking visibly relieved. Lisbon rescued the pizza from him before he dropped it. She hadn't eaten since lunchtime and it was after midnight now. Rigsby sat in a chair.

"Van Pelt's has a fractured right leg. It should heal nicely, no complications. She's got severe bruising from the seat belt but no internal injuries." Lisbon put the pizza box on the coffee table in front of Jane. She opened the box and took a slice. Jane didn't move. "Eat," she commanded him.

Jane looked at her then reluctantly took a slice and accepted the drink offered by Cho.

"The surgery to relieve the pressure on her brain went seems to have gone well," Lisbon continued.

Cho frowned. "Seems to?"

"We won't know the extent of the damage until she wakes up."

"When?" asked Cho.

"When she's ready," Lisbon answered. "Her parents are on their way. They'll be here tomorrow afternoon. Good job rescuing the Andersons. We've got half the cops in the state looking for the guys in the black sedan." She took another slice. "If you guys don't eat this I'll finish it myself," she warned.

Rigsby didn't move. "We had one in the car on the way over," he said.

Lisbon continued. "We got some decent descriptions of the shooters and their car. They'll turn up. And it turns out none of the other people involved in the accident were seriously injured. The woman and her baby from the mini-van were released, so was the driver of the Prius."

"Sounds like things are pretty wrapped up here," said Cho.

"They are," agreed Lisbon. "There's nothing any of us can do here. It's been a rough night. We may as well all go home and get some rest."

As she spoke, Jane stood and removed his jacket.

"Cho, why don't you drive Jane home and…Jane?"

Jane also removed his vest, folded it on the back of a chair with his jacket. He turned around three times and then made himself comfortable on one of the couches.

"Jane. You can't sleep here," she said.

Clearly, Jane thought he could.

"Jane, get up."

Rigsby and Cho looked at one another and both began removing their own jackets.

"No, guys, _no_," said Lisbon.

Rigsby flopped onto the room's second couch and Cho gingerly tested the third.

"Don't do it, Cho," said Lisbon.

Kimball Cho removed his shoes and stretched out on the last remaining couch.

"Fine," said Lisbon. "Just… _fine_." She pulled one chair directly facing another and sat on one, propping her lower legs and feet on the other. "Fine," she said again, and switched off the reading lamp.

* * * *

The 3rd floor waiting room's window faced east, so there were no direct beams of sun to disturb the occupant's sleep. The subdued sounds of morning activities in the hospital did not wake them, and neither did the not so subdued sounds of Cho's snores. Jane slept with his arms crossed in a slightly defensive posture. No sofa could contain the full 6'3" length of Wayne Rigsby and he had removed his shoes and propped his feet up on the arm of the sofa. Lisbon took up two chairs and her head had tilted in an unfortunate angle that brought her nose close to Rigsby's feet. She dreamed of rancid nachos.

Virgil Minelli didn't find any of this cute. He stood from the doorway of the waiting room with a cup of coffee in his hand. When his glare alone failed to wake them a loud and officious, "Good morning," did.

Lisbon was immediately alert. She coughed slightly at Rigsby's feet then pushed them off the arm of the couch as she sat up. "Good morning, boss," she said.

"Did you encourage this?" Minelli asked her, indicating the awakening men.

"Absolutely," Lisbon said. "We're a team. We stick together." She stood, along with Rigsby and Cho. Jane pretended to remain asleep.

Minelli looked at her skeptically and took a sip of coffee. "Gah," he said, disgusted. "Stuff takes like chicken!" He tossed the cup in the trash. "The Andersons say, 'Thanks.' And so do I." Minelli stared at Jane who had yet to move. "He alright?" he asked Lisbon.

"He's fine," she answered.

Minelli shook his head. "Nevada state police picked up a couple of guys driving a black sedan matching the description of your shooters. They're bringing them back now. Be here around 11. You all seem to be well rested – I expect your team to handle the interrogation."

"We'll be right on it, boss," said Lisbon.

Not finding anything more to comment on, Minelli turned to leave in search of a decent cup of coffee. "Keep me updated on Van Pelt."

Will do, boss," said Lisbon. She checked her watch. "It's half past seven, guys. Let's get back…" She stopped when a nurse entered the room.

"Miss. Van Pelt is awake," the nurse said.

Rigsby said, "How is she?"

"Better than expected," replied the nurse. "She's lucid and coherent. She's a very lucky young woman."

"Can we see her?" asked Rigsby.

"Normally we only allow family…"

"We're her family," interrupted Lisbon.

"…but as her family isn't here yet we will make an exception. One at a time, of course. We don't want her to get over-stimulated."

"Of course," said Lisbon.

The nurse moved into the hallway. "She's asking for Jane," she said, motioning for Lisbon to follow her.

The four agents turned to look at the man on the couch. Patrick had opened his eyes, but he didn't move.

"Jane," said Lisbon.

'You should go," he told her.

"She's asking for you."

Jane didn't respond.

"She may not stay awake for long," said the nurse. "If one of you wants to see her it has to be now."

Jane stood up and followed the nurse.


	10. Chapter 10 conclusion

Patrick Jane very rarely went places that he did not want to go. Van Pelt's room in ICU was one of those places. He took a breath and went inside and forced himself to approach the bed. Surrounded by beeping machines and IV lines, and with her head wrapped in bandages, Van Pelt looked at him and managed a small smile and a wave. "Hi," she said.

Patrick had to get close to hear her. "Hi," he said back, followed by what he considered one of the stupidest things he had ever said, "How are you?"

"I've been better," she answered. "But they say I'll live."

"I'm glad," he said.

Grace smiled. "Me too." There was an awkward silence. She finally broke it. "I wanted to see you first, alone, because I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," she said.

"You're sorry?" Patrick was startled.

"When we went in the dealership I called you 'Dad.' I was just playing around, I didn't even think that that might… " she paused. "I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry."

"Don't you be sorry," Patrick told her. "I'm the one who should be sorry. Who _is_ sorry."

"Why?" she asked.

Her question was so innocent that he nearly lost control. Tears came to his eyes but he refused to let them fall. Gripping the rails on her bed, Patrick said, "I got you into this mess. This accident was my fault"

"The hell it was,' Grace said. "I set up the situation, I got in the car, I drove the car."

"But…"

"But nothing," she said. "Unless you knew people were going to shoot at us, and you knew we'd hit the red light, and you knew that Charles would stomp on the gas…" She could see he was struggling and put her hand on one of his. "Did you know those things were going to happen? Are you…psychic?" she asked with a smile.

"No," he managed to smile back. "I'm not psychic."

"Then you're off the hook for this one," Grace said.

"Yeah," he said.

"Do you forgive me for masquerading as your daughter?"

Patrick took Grace's hand in both of his and gently squeezed it. "I do," he said.

"Then we're even," Grace smiled.

* * * *


End file.
